


As If A Phantom Caress'd Me

by ketonicoxygen



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, But I promise a happy ending, Fix-It, James is being a jerk but he doesn't mean to, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Post-SPECTRE, or I hope so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6702097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketonicoxygen/pseuds/ketonicoxygen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q always knew Bond wasn't here to stay, so he shouldn't be surprised when, after SPECTRE, Bond rode out into the sunset with the beautiful, strong Madeleine Swann. Or did he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	As If A Phantom Caress'd Me

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [00QPrompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/00QPrompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>   
> 
> The reason why Bond’s flat was so unlived-in was that most of his things were at Q’s. (Some sort of ongoing arrangement that was interrupted by the whole SPECTRE incident.) For some very Bond-ish logic or just him being a jerk at the end of SPECTRE James still left MI6 and Q with Madeleine. Angst ensues.
> 
> So basically lots of angst. But a happy ending pls?

It’s done. SPECTRE and Nine Eyes and C breathing down their necks and the threat of imminent job hunting hanging over his head. All over. 

Q stands on this side of Westminster Bridge, watching the final act of the drama unfolds before him. Bond, towering over Blofeld, holding the villain at gunpoint; Blofeld, looking up in defiance, still trying to best Bond even when all his hands are shown. Typical evil mastermind, he supposes. Bond is conflicted, he realises. He’s been spending far too much time in this man’s company to not know every nuanced emotions that are revealed by the subtlest hints of his body language, even at this distance.

Bond suddenly breaks the tension right in front of him, and turns to look at them. For one mad, delusional moment, Q thinks Bond’s looking directly into his eyes. Bond’s attention doesn’t linger long though, only moments later he turns the other way to look at something on the other side of the Bridge.

No, not something. _Someone_.

Only then does Q notice that they—the, as it appears, innermost circle of MI6—are not the only ones watching. Dr. Madeleine Swann, who he briefly met when Bond brought her with him to his hotel room (the audacity!), who made him irrationally self-conscious and insecure and just a tad little bit jealous—not just a tad little bit, if he’s completely honest with himself, but Q thinks he is entitled a little bit of self-delusion after all this mass—which is completely uncalled-for since neither of them have ever tried to define what they are so he doesn’t really have the right for jealousy. But he’s only human, and reason only gets you so far.

It suddenly becomes all too clear to Q. It’s a choice. A choice between Bond’s life as a government-sanctioned assassin, forever looking behind their shoulders, always wary, never able to trust and settle down; and another life, a life of retirement, with a beautiful woman, content and peaceful. A life not his own versus a life he deserves.

Very fitting then, that they just so happen to be standing on the side of Houses of Parliament.

He tries not to make it personal, not to make it a choice between him and the beautiful, strong Madeleine Swann. He doesn't think he is very successful. He, along with M and Tanner and Eve, simply watches, and waits. It’s Bond’s decision now.

Bond, to his credit, doesn't drag it out. Q sees him relax his stance, unarm his gun, and the treacherous little hope inside of him comes to its painful yet unsurprising death. He knows then, that he’s lost Bond forever, when he’s never even had him in the first place.

He watches the man he has great affection to turn his back on him and walk away. From day one of their involvement, he knows this day is coming, yet he is still utterly unprepared to see it with his own eyes. He feels like dying slowly inside, if he allows himself to be that melodramatic. Something suspiciously in the vicinity of his heart freezes, contracts, then crushed, leaving him hollow inside. He’s falling into pieces, and he tries not to let it show, not when he’s being watched by his colleagues and boss—he can fall apart in his own time.

Eve, ever the observant one, senses his agitation. He vaguely registers being asked if he’s all right. He replies, with a slight quiver and an unnatural high pitch—to his horror, that he’s fine, and he’ll come in tomorrow, and if there’s nothing else he’ll just go home. Cats to feed, tired brain to rest and so on. He doesn't believe for a second that she’s convinced, but he walks away before Eve can make any sort of objection.

When he gets home he’s barely conscious—he’s only driven by adrenaline by now. He goes though the motion, refills the cat food, has a quick shower, and goes straight to the never-used guest room for the inevitable adrenaline crush. He can’t face it all now, not yet.

—————

Q manages altogether three hours of unrestful sleep before he decides, fuck it, if he can’t rest properly, he may as well get some work done. He does his morning routine mechanically, and goes for work. It’s still dark outside, but the sky’s mostly clear, promising a nice day ahead. Q decides that this day is the day he starts anew, the day he forgets all about stupid agents and their unfairly handsome faces and their dazzling laughs and their magnetism to attract any interest partners. Been there, done that, now it’s the time to move on.

Of course his plan, however well-laid they are, will always get interrupted by a certain someone, someone who should be hundreds of miles away from London now but is not for some perplexing reason. Bond is here, right now, in his office, after he’s walked away with Dr. Swann, talking to him. Surreal, and mad.

He considers for a few seconds that if this is all a very realistic hallucination made up by his brain due to the sleep deprivation, then he looks into Bond’s eyes and decides it couldn’t possibly be the case, the bluest eyes that bears into his mind just simply couldn’t be faked.

Bond is immaculately dressed as ever, hands in pockets and stance relaxed, smiling that devilish smile that makes Q wants to do inadvisable things—things that he often did in the past for exactly that, Austria being one of many. Faced with this impossible human being standing in front of him, Q, irrationally, hopes.

Q is almost lost in those deep blue eyes when his mind vaguely registers “There’s just one more thing”.

Ah. That.

The DB5 project started not long after Skyfall—the series of tragic events that was later dubbed officially after the manor that was burnt down. Bond was a mess then. Mallory wouldn’t allow Bond active duty until he actually passed all the test, so he was effectively grounded and thus cut off from his only possible outlet for his anger. Q, already sporting a huge crush on the agent but swore to himself to never act on it, approached Bond. They shared a few drinks, and once, after some pints and casual conversations, he brought up the ill-fated DB5. He promised Bond that he’d fix her—he knows how attached Bond was to that car, and that was when Bond kissed him.

Looking back, Q realises at that time Bond probably knew about Q’s crush—or at the very least, attraction—on him, and in his grief, he perhaps thought a night with a willing body without him having to make any efforts beforehand and worrying about potential messy emotional turmoils due to his inability to commit—whether due to his instinct or work— after was a marvellous idea. They didn’t stop, after that. For the past year he’s been the person Bond goes to whenever he’s in London. He supposes that’s partly for the convenience and partly, he hopes, out of some genuine affection.

He’s been working on the DB5 on and off for months now. In his own time, alone—it’s not like he can use government money or manpower for personal projects. It was finished during Bond’s “vacation” in Mexico, he hasn’t told Bond yet, intending it to be his anniversary present—not that he’s going to call it that, but he could think of it like that in his own mind. Then all hell broke loose and the present never made it to its rightful owner. 

Well, he supposes now is as good a time as any to give it to Bond, seeing this might well be the last time he sees Bond and all.

He forces a smile, and gives Bond the key. Before they go, Bond gives him a wink, the cheeky bastard.

He feels bitter, despite himself, that Bond is riding out into the sunset—or sunrise, in this case—with someone else in the car he made specially for him. He imagined, while working on the car, going our for a ride with Bond in it after it being properly restored, a semi-romantic getaway. That, he thinks wistfully, will always remain in the realm of fantasy. 

He remains distracted for the rest of the day. He, being the masochist that he is, can’t help thinking about Bond. In his less selfish moments, he thinks Bond deserves it—a nice retirement with a beautiful woman—after all he’s done in the name of Queen and country. In other times, he just feels stupid and manipulated. On balance though, he’s glad—he always knows, in his heart, that Bond’s not here to stay, it’s only just a matter of time. In all the time they were together, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now that it happened, he feels relieved, in some inexplicable way (and pained, but that’s to be expected); he’s happy for Bond, that he finally found someone outside the service that could provide him the haven he sought.

—————

Somehow, Q makes it through the day. He drags himself home. The moment he opens the door though, he regrets it. He didn’t see it yesterday because he was too sleep-deprived and nearly unconscious but today, everything is clearer and into focus and after this morning he just can’t take it anymore—

Traces of Bond are all over the apartment. Bond’s unfinished scotch is on the counter; in the fridge are ingredients that Q doesn't know he has—Bond was always the designated cook between them, seeing that Q doesn’t cook at all and Bond has a very high standard; in the cupboard are exotic tea from all the places Bond went to for missions; there are some odd books spread around that definitely don’t belong to Q; Bond’s laundry is still in the bathroom, as well as his straight razor. Even his cats—traitors!—are affected, Bond always allowed the cuddles despite him insisting not liking them, much to Q’s consternation, and right now the traitors are looking up at Q with hopeful eyes—Bond has become their walking thermo bottles and the human being that provided superb homemade cat food.

The bedroom is worse, the wardrobe is full of Bond’s suits and shirts and Oxfords, the bed is made up—a leftover habit of Bond’s time in the Navy, one of Bond’s shirt is draped over the headboard, on Bond’s bedside table is a half-finished non-fiction big volume. 

He suddenly remembers that the watch he fixed for Bond is still in that drawer, he intended to tell Bond months ago but always forgot in a rush. It was Bond’s favourite watch. In the back of the closet there is also an exploding pen, he made that intending it to be a gift for Christmas because Bond keeps hinting about it.

Apparently somewhere along the line during their not-relationship Bond has invaded his home and taken over his life.

At some point, Bond has, unknowingly, moved in. He can't live here, among the ghosts of a man that’s not there anymore. He doesn't know how to deal with Bond’s things. Does he throw it out? Or maybe at some point Bond would come and retrieve his thing, though he doesn’t really believe that—Bond only needs his own person to move on, nothing else is needed, he’s resourceful like that. Q doesn’t want to deal with it all now, he thinks he would go check into a hotel for the time being. After he’s had his breakdown.

Well, if he’s not going to stay here—

Q retrieves the exploding pen from its hiding place, and stuffs it into the same drawer with the watch. He takes out a pen and stick-it, and writes—

 _Bond,_  
_I don’t know if you will ever drop by,_  
_but in case you do, your favourite watch_  
_that I fixed is in the top drawer by your_  
_side of bed, there’s also an exploding pen_  
_that I made for you for Christmas, you_  
_may as well have it, for old time’s sake._  
_—Q_

He knows Bond most likely wouldn't come back here again, but he can’t help hope that, by the slightest chance, Bond might be considerate enough to deal with the mess he left him with.

After he sticks it to the fridge, a sudden lethargy comes over him. He can feel the upcoming epic breakdown he’s going to have and he needs a place to crush where he can feel safe and nobody is watching but James is not here anymore and he will never feel safe without him around—

Somehow, he’s in the closet—his, not the one Bond claimed—in the bedroom, curled into a ball and crying. Lovelace apparently sneaked in with him, Turing is nowhere in sight—he’s claimed Bond as his person and abandoned Q. Q holds Lovelace close to his chest and cries.

—————

When Bond’s back to Q’s place, it’s almost mid-night. 

A part of him hopes that Q’s awake, because it feels a lifetime ago since they've spent any quality time together. Another part of him, a larger part, finds the idea of finding Q in their bed—and yes, it’s _their_ bed, more or less—sound asleep, soft around the edges and looking relaxed and younger that even he is, utterly appealing, especially considering the past hellish days he’s had. Bond smiles as his mind conjures up the image of a cute, sleeping Q.

He let himself in. Turing, as usual, runs towards him in greeting. Bond picks him up and give him a good squeeze. In no time Turing is purring loudly in Bond’s embrace. Despite his complaints about cat hair all over his suits and them always barging into the bedroom at the wrong time, Bond finds himself rather fond of these creatures and after weeks apart, he misses them—Q’s influence for sure.

The room is dark. Bond looks around and a frown forms between his eyes. Everything seems normal, too normal. In fact, the room looks like it hasn't been touched since he left. Which is worrying, because that usually means Q again forgets to take care of himself. He really needs to have a talk with Q about it, and about them, for that matter. 

He’s been meaning to have The Talk about their arrangement for a while, but there never seems to be a good time, then SPECTRE happened and all went to hell. Being strapped down to that chair and having his brain fucked with put certain things in a new perspective. He knows he needs to have that talk with Q soon—there’s never going to be a good time, and he fears postponing that talk any longer would mean he never gets to do that _at all_. And he just can’t bear the thought of Q never knowing how deep his affection goes for him. Q may put up a good front whenever he hears or sees Bond with other people, but Bond knows how insecure Q can be—if Bond ever knows the person who fucked up Q’s self-esteem, they are in serious trouble—and Bond wants to put an end to it. Bond doesn’t know if this is love he feels for Q—he’s been through too much and he wonders if he can feel love as love is after all—but he knows if he doesn’t at least try, then he doesn’t deserve Q at all.

The apartment is quiet. Q must be sleeping. He goes to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he senses something abnormal. The stick-it on the fridge, that’s new.

 _Bond,_  
_I don’t know if you will ever drop by,_  
_but in case you do, your favourite watch_  
_that I fixed is in the top drawer by your_  
_side of bed, there’s also an exploding pen_  
_that I made for you for Christmas, you_  
_may as well have it, for old time’s sake._  
_—Q_

Suddenly it all comes back to him. Q’s unnatural smile when he saw him driving Madeleine to the airport, Q’s slight tremor when he handed him the key, he put it down as caffeine overdose at the time, but now, with the note, he suddenly understands.

Q didn’t know. Q thinks he’s leaving. How could Q possibly not know. Every time he comes back to London, he comes back to Q. They spend time together, _really_ spend time together, not just fall into bed whenever they’ve got the chance; almost all his things are at Q’s, his own flat sparse and unfurnished; he brings back trinkets and tea from his missions; he visits Q at Q-branch when he's grounded. How could Q not know?

With horror, he realises from Q’s point of view, how cruel he has been. Bringing another woman to his hotel room, manipulating him into doing things for Bond, leaving with said woman in the car he made specially for Bond. God, he’s been an absolute jerk. It also dawns on him the reason Q insists on calling him Bond instead of James outside the bedroom, much to Bond’s annoyance—Q’s trying, feebly, to maintain the blurred line between them to protect himself from getting hurt.

Frantically, Bond dashes to the bedroom to see if Q’s there. The bed is still perfectly made up, exactly the way he left it. He checks every room, and Q’s in none of them.

Bond is so angry with himself, how could he, one of the best spy from Six, not have seen this coming. 

While he stands in the hallway, he realises he’s not alone. There’s a soft snore, which he didn't hear earlier because of the racket he made. But that’s not possible, he checked every room—

Bond followed the soft sound, and goes to the bedroom. He focuses, and realises the sound comes from the closet.

Slowly, Bond opens the closet, and is immediately faced with a pair of disapproving eyes. Lovelace is in here, along with his person, Q, who is curled into a ball, slightly snoring presumably because he’s been crying—the tearstained face confirms it. His hair is even messier than usual, and he looks deathly pale. Bond feels so guilty.

Bond reaches out and pulls Q into his embrace, then picks up Q. He can feel Q’s sharp bones even though the layers of clothes. He determines to fatten Q up once everything’s sorted, if Q allows him to do that after what he did, that is.

He kisses into Q’s hair affectionately. He can feel Q’s starting to stir. Bond put Q down onto the bed, and tucks him in. Then he waits, watching Q slowly comes back to the land of living.

Bond can see the moment Q sobers up—his eyes comically widen.

“Bond?” He speaks in a nasal voice, and he can barely hold back his treacherous tears. He hopes Bond wouldn't comment on it, leaving him an illusion of dignity. “I didn’t think you’d come back…Uh…I haven't got a chance to pack up your things yet, so you have to do it your—”

Bond shuts him up by kissing him. Q stiffens, before he realises what is happening and relaxes into the kiss. When the kiss breaks, Q finds Bond smiling down at him, looking for all the world like this is exactly where he wants to be.

“I don’t understand…Where’s Dr. Swann? Why are you still here? And—” Q pauses, “what the hell was that?” He can’t hope, he really shouldn’t. He should know better now, and how could Bond be so cruel—

“Q. I was just dropping Dr. Swann to the airport. She’s going back to Austria.”

“But I thought you were—”

“Q, let me finish.” Bond brushes one of Q’s unruly strand of hair out of the way, “There never was anything concrete between me and Madeleine. It’s all part of the mission. And I want you to know that I’m never,” Bond holds Q’s face in his hand, looking Q directly in the eyes, “never leaving you, if you allow me, that is. And that I…” a pause, Bond is hesitant for a moment, but apparently a moment is all he needs to make a decision, he takes a deep breath, “I love you. So there you have it. I love you, I love you being half-dead and adorable before your first cup of tea in the morning, I love your snarks on the comms, I love how you sometimes completely lose track of time when you work—though you really need to take better care of yourself when I'm not there, I love the passion with which you talk about your inventions, I love the gadgets you make specially for me, I love your smile when you wake up and realising I’m in the bed with you, I love your derisive laugh when I brings back souvenirs for you, I love you cute little frown when you hear me saying I lost your equipment yet again despite being secretly glad that it’s me that comes back and not your equipment. I love _you_ , Q, all of you, and nothing, _nothing_ will ever change that. And I realise I’ve been an absolute jerk, but if you will have me back, I shall spend the rest of my life trying to compensate that for you. ”

Q is stunned. He stares, and stares. The silence drags on, and Bond’s become a little bit worried.

“Q? Please say something. Should I leave? If you don’t want me here I—”

Apparently the tiniest hint that Bond might leave is enough incentive for Q to get over his shock.

“No! No, stay, please.”Q pleas, “I…I never knew. I thought I was just…”

“What, Q?” Bond asks softly.

“Convenient.” Q finishes in a little voice, then turns to look away, Bond’s hands, however, forbid him to do so.

“Q, you are not convenient. You are a marvellous, brilliant, gorgeous human being that I don’t deserve and frankly I don’t know why you think so little of yourself so if you will tell me who it is that hurt you so badly before to make you think like that—” Bond is dead serious.

“Bond.” Q puts a stop to Bond’s angry speech, “and yes.”

“Call me James. Please, I’m here to stay. And I rather think after everything we’ve been doing for the past year we should be on first name term now.” another pause, “and yes to what?” Bond, no, James, asks hopefully. He didn’t think it possible, before, for James, the suave womaniser, to beg for another person’s permission to stay in their life.

“ _Yes_ to the rest of your life, and mine. Ours. _James_.” For the first time in days, Q smiles a real smile. Q didn’t think words could have so much power, because James looks so happy now he’s practically shinning. Q can’t help leaning forward and kissing him. The kiss turns into a full-on snog, then…something more.

—————

Later, they lays down peacefully on the bed, Q’s head on James’ chest, James distractedly massaging Q’s scalp. Everything is so perfect that Q could cry.

“James?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I’m not adorable.”

“Yes you are.”

“And my inventions are not ‘gadgets’. They are highly advanced technology sponsored by the government and shouldn’t be treated like toys for you Double-Ohs.”

“But exploding pen? Really?”

Q blushes, then hides his face by burying himself further into Bond’s embrace. “Well, you keep asking for it. But they’re still not _‘gadgets’_.”

“Fine, whatever you say.” Q can hear the smile in James’ voice. Then feels it when Bond kisses into his hair.

Outside, the cats are scratching the door, seeking attention and demanding for food.

“You feed the cats. We’ve run out of your homemade cat food and it’s all your fault because you spoiled them then you weren't there to make more so you should be the one to face their wrath.”

“All right.” James is suppressing laugh now. He’s never felt this content before. He could get used to this, the intimacy and the affection and the unconcealed love. “Let us just have just one more moment before we let the devils in.” Bond closes his eyes, and pulls Q even closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of firsts for this fic. Really hope you like it.
> 
> Not native speaker, so please forgive me for all the mistakes.


End file.
